


Golden Age One Shots

by stingingcake



Category: Berserk
Genre: Canon Compliant, Don't know anything about kissing, F/M, I'm Sorry, and then forget about it for like 10 years, golden age arc, gutsca - Freeform, like no experience what so ever, now there's Guts and Casca meet as kids!, or at least I think it is, or drinking, or stiches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stingingcake/pseuds/stingingcake
Summary: I have a lot of feelings because of Berserk and as a result write fanfiction to fill the void. ha. These are mostly GutxCasca because they deserve happiness. First one is Guts and Casca get really drunk, second one is Guts and Griffith have a conversation, third one is Guts and Casca unknowingly meet as kids.





	1. Casca Ain't No Lightweight

**Author's Note:**

> This happens some time after Griffith has his dream talk thing and the Hundred man slayer thing, but before the battle of Doldrey. I think that works?

“Two.” She called, setting down the empty flagon rather forcefully. Casca had drank the mead as if it were water, though Guts knew it was anything but. 

He responded by chugging another someone had put in front of him, “Three.”

Casca stared him down as she matched him, looking no worse for wear than he did despite her being much smaller. She really wasn’t a light weight, or maybe Guts wasn’t good at drinking. Surely what she would say if she won, like that would ever happen. While he hadn’t been the one to start this contest (well, neither had Casca really) he was going to finish it. Sure it had been arranged by some of their men as a sort of company contest, but both were too stubborn to back down from a challenge. 

The contest continued until everyone to too drunk to keep count and Casca got confused on what was going on.

“Go big sis!” One of her men cheered as she downed another, sputtering as she finished. There was a lot of cheering actually. Raised voices and drunk laughter filled the air, making Guts’ ears ring. It was really loud, and also everything seemed really- really- something? His line of thought was lost as he tried to remember what was happening, He drank more and Casca looked especially cross with him. 

She was glaring at him from across the table, and before someone could give her another drink she said, “You.” Venom filled her voice, “I need to talk to you.” Casca stood up with a little difficulty and stumbled to his side of the table.

“Whaa-” He slurred as she grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging him after her. Up on his feet, the world started to spin but by focusing on Casca he was able to stay upright.

Some of the crowd still surrounding them shouted in protest for them to finish the contest, but most of the group moved onto some other activity. Either too drunk to care or not wanting to risk Casca’s temper. Guts was somewhere in between as she tugged him towards the woods. No doubt to scold him about some trivial matter like, ‘Oh you’re too reckless’ or ‘Think about other people for once,” or “I know you have those dreams about me,” wait no, strike that last one, what was he thinking? Obviously he wasn’t.

Once they were out of earshot of the camp, the celebrations a buzz in the distance, Casca turned on him.

“I’m mad at you.” She said, cheeks flushed. She was in his personal space, practically nose to nose, using her grip on Guts’ collar to pull him down to her eye level. Her eyes were dark, black in the lighting, and very angry. Also she was beautiful.

“So?” He said. Casca didn’t seem all that mad. Normally she would start with what ever it was she was mad about rant from there. Now she just seemed embarrassed or something.

“So?” She repeated back, not understanding his confusion.

“Why are you mad?” Guts asked, wondering if she was always this pretty. He needed another look.

“Because of you!” She exclaimed.

Maybe she really was mad; that sounded a lot like something Casca would say if she were angry. 

“Always me.” He scoffed, breaking eye contact.

“Yes, always you.” Casca agreed sounding almost relieved, “Why is it you? It shouldn’t be- I thought I hated you, so why would it be you?” 

Wait, what? 

“Is it because you’re all muscly? I thought I didn’t care about that sort of thing,” She moved her hands to feel his shoulders and he leaned back a bit. “But here you are, all muscles and a stupid handsome face. I thought- I thought,” She slurred, “I thought I didn’t care about that, but then I wake up and remember waking up in your arms and how nice it felt. And how sometimes I just want to be like that with somebody and you’re the first person who comes to mind.” 

Wait, what!?

“I shouldn’t think that. I thought- Shouldn’t it be- You don’t- It’s all your fault!” She finished, obviously frustrated. “I never thought of Griffith like that, at least not that often- and rarely dreams.” 

Guts was stunned into silence be her words. She was mad at him because liked him? That was stupid. And it’s not like he was a hypocrite and did the exact same thing. There was something between them unexplored but deeply interesting. 

“I don’t understand,” He said finally, Casca’s hands were still feeling his shoulders. It was nice. And distracting, why was she like this? One minute yelling, the next almost sweet… From the way she treated him half the time he’d thought she was jealous of how close Guts and Griffith were. Which was dumb in it’s own right. 

Sure he and Griffith were close, like brothers he had thought (but Griffith had said it himself, they weren’t friends. Griffith didn’t have any friends, or equals for that matter). So Casca was jealous of how close they were, but she was also not as jealous as she thought she should be so she was mad at herself and took that out on him. Wait, so that meant Casca liked him? That would be great. Drunk Guts must be making some mistake because the world rarely let him have people who cared about him. 

“Why you?” She continued, largely ignoring his confusion, “It can’t be because you’re about my age, so are a lot of the men here. Is it because of what we’ve gone through together, how you’re the only man I’ve ever lain with, even if we never- ya’ know? I just don’t know. I don’t know.” She blushed more, and Guts understood this wasn’t just the alcohol, “I like how you make me feel sometimes, but I don’t want to. How can I think about Griffith if I think about you too.”

“Me too.”

She looked at him oddly, not comprehending at first what he was saying. Casca had put into words some of what he was wondering about. She was a beautiful woman, no one would deny that, so of course he was attracted to her. Not on purpose of course, if he could stop he would have as those thoughts got distracting. Especially if one had to deal with the source of them on a daily basis. And she had dreams too, Guts assumed they were similar to his dreams about her, the odd non-nightmare that still made him wake up sweating. Here was the conundrum: were they having these thoughts and feelings because the only people to be in anything resembling intimacy were each other, or was it something more? Was it purely physical, and any emotion just a byproduct, or was it all real? 

“Not the Griffith part, but that’s how I feel.” Guts elaborated, “I think- I think very highly of you.”

“So you understand?” Guts nodded, “That’s such a relief.” Casca was close enough that when she let out a breath of relief he could feel it on his skin. It made his blood rush and skin feel warmer than the alcohol already had it. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her, but Casca’s blush grew as they maintained eye contact. 

Without thinking much, Guts cupped her face in his hands and bent down to kiss her. So he did, just not to the lips as he had intended. A combination of being drunk, never having kissed someone, and closing his eyes had made it so he kissed the tip of her nose instead. Really, he never stood a chance. Casca froze at the contact and then started laughing. 

“What are you trying to do?” She asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. Casca smiled and kissed his nose as well. It more on the arch than he had kissed her and Guts realized it was on his scar. The act was oddly sentimental and filled Guts with a warm feeling, different from the burning that was also happening. It made him feel… safe? No more like comforted, like someone actually cared for him. When she pulled away, she finished her question with, “Trying to kiss me?”

Guts blushed a bit as he stood up straighter, dropping a hand from her face to her waist. “I really must be drunk.” He muttered as Casca moved closer still, until their bodies her flush together. Guts could feel her body pressed to him, muscular and very feminine. He buried his face in her hair; she smelled like booze and sweat and Casca. She was so pretty.

Casca leaned her head up to kiss the farthest she could on Guts, which happened to be his neck. She placed a couple of kisses before murmuring, “I must be dreaming.” 

Guts decided he like kisses from Casca a lot. She continued her attention to his neck, moving to his jaw and closer to his mouth. Kissing was incredible fun and Guts wondered why they hadn’t done this sooner.

The answer to that was Griffith and alcohol, with an absence of the first and an excess of the second. But Guts didn’t want to think about that, about how he would probably always be second in Casca’s mind, how because him not having a dream made him a person Griffith couldn’t consider a friend. Then Guts found if he could just focus on the task in front of him, much like a battle, those thoughts would fade away, and right now the task was fully appreciating Casca.

After one of her kisses touching the corner of his mouth, Guts dove in and kissed her firmly on the lips. Casca responded eagerly. Guts had never kissed or been kissed by someone, and probably neither had Casca, so the learning curve was pretty steep as they both tried to figure out what to do. Perhaps them both having no experience was a good thing since there was no way to draw a comparison. Guts was mostly going off of instinct, and Casca seemed to be enjoying herself so he must be doing something right. Eventually, after a few of more closed mouth, chaster kisses, they eventually graduated to sloppier open mouth ones. Guts liked these ones even more. She tasted like how he imagined she would, and then Guts wondered when he had imagined that?

HIs hand drifted from her waist to rest on her hip, while her hands moved to tug his shirt up. Guts decided then that once his shirt was off, her’s was next. The pulling up of his shirt ignites some pain, but not enough draw his attention away from the current activities. Eventually Casca got his shirt off and subsequently yelped in surprise.

“Guts!” She exclaimed, “You’re bleeding.”

Guts was startled by her outburst and looked down to see the stitches on earlier wound tearing and bleeding again. Huh.

“When did-”

“Don’t just stand there!” Casca interrupted, using the shirt she had just removed to compress the reopened wound. “We’ll have to go back and restitch this.”

Great, Guts thought, the mood is ruined because of some stupid wounds. Except she gave him a kiss on the shoulder and murmured something into his skin that he couldn’t quite make out.

They started their walk back to the camp, mutually supporting each other, arms wrapped around waists and shoulders.

“You bleed so much,” Casca said, breaking the silence that had settled on them, “How much blood does one person have?”

Guts didn’t respond, focusing instead on her hair. It was soft and shone in the moonlight. It was a little longer than she normally kept it and she would probably cut it soon. He wondered briefly what it would be like if she grew it out. Probably pretty nice, if not in the way, but she would find a way to manage it. That being said, he also really liked her short hair.

“You should stop.” She continued despite his silence.

“Bleeding?”

“Yeah.” Casca looked forlornly at the blood stained shirt, “Where does it all go? I don’t want you to go with it. I don’t want you to go.” She wasn’t making much sense, but that was probably due to the alcohol still in her system.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He assured her, although he wasn’t sure how true that was. What Griffith had said was bothering Guts a lot, probably more than it should be. He spent years getting to know the guy, and now find out he was obviously not thought of as closely. Frankly, it hurt and filled him questions, useless questions that just clouded his mind and not in a good way like Casca was right now.

After stumbling a few times, they made it to the medic tent. Few people were still about on this side of the camp; most of the festivities were on the other side of camp and the ones who were nearest were turning in for the night. So there Guts sat on a three legged stool while Casca cleaned the angry flesh. Swords stab? Pike? He wasn’t sure.

After washing it with water, Casca used another type of alcohol to clean it. That probably hurt as bad as the wound. Then she started resewing his skin.

Throughout the whole process Guts had been quiet, trying to think of other things while he was being repaired. Casca wasn’t the most gentle, but she got the job done. That as it was, when she tugged at the torn flesh with a needle he couldn’t help but complain.

“I’m not a shirt that needs mending.”

She glared at him and Guts remembered too late he probably shouldn't antagonize Casca, especially not an inebriated Casca. She repeated the harsh stitch drawing a hiss of pain from him.

“You always ruin things.” She said, “Especially yourself.”

“I don’t try to.”

Casca snorted, Guts found it more endearing than he probably should have, and tied the thread off. 

“Good intentions pave the road to hell.”

With those words of wisdom she made to stand up, but wobbled slightly. Before she could get up and fall over completely, Guts grabbed her bicep and pulled her in for another kiss. She reciprocated and things looked like they were going to finish whatever it was they had started earlier. That is, until voices interrupted.

People were heading back to their tents for the night, conversations to be continued around campfires or dropped completely.

“I should probably go.” Casca said reluctantly, distancing herself.

“Yeah.” Guts didn’t really want her to leave, but the stitches are starting to bother him, and they both were tired. 

Standing without much help, their hands linger longer than necessary as they slowly separate. Guts wonders if he lets go if she’ll disappear like snow, but let's go anyway. He’s no coward. Casca made her way towards her tent. Guts cursed the fact her tent was out of his way to go back to his, and waved goodbye.

After contemplating whether or not to just sleep in the medic tent, Guts decided he would feel better if his sword was near. So he trudged to his tent half asleep, stitches irritating, still drunk, and hot and bothered.

Maybe tomorrow they could talk about it. Talk about what? What even was that? Some sort of dream? If it were, it was a pleasant one. Guts drifted off to sleep, exhaustion knocking him out rather quickly.

In the morning Guts awoke to a horrible hangover, bloodstained shirt, and no memory of what had happened the previous night. There were also some strange bruises on his neck; he must have gotten into a fight. He could remember up to the drinking contest and then it got blurry before not making sense at all. Casca kissing him? Must have been a dream, another one of those. He blushed involuntarily at that. Partially out of embarrassment and shame, and also out of something else. He shook his head and wearily got up to get ready for the day.

An okay fight and a good dream; Guts was fine with that.


	2. Kids are Mean to the Ones They Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffith and Guts have a conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in the three year time skip, like in year 1½ or 2 after Guts joined the Hawks. So Casca and Guts are still at odds.

“She’s such a b*tch.” Guts complained, sitting down heavily on the chair. He was in Griffith’s study, a relatively small room with books piled high and various odds and ends.

“What happened this time?” Griffith asked exasperated. He was reviewing the most recent battle’s wins and losses, a victory but more supplies were needed. He could be thankful for that.

Guts huffed, “I was supposed to tell Jeudo to tell his company to not try and cross some river on their next operation since flooding had made it dangerous, and I was going to tell him after I did some training, but then Casca comes by and bites my head off. If it were so important, why wouldn’t she tell him herself.”

“Were you going to tell Jeaudo?” Griffith was still not convinced Guts wasn’t to blame for at least some of Casca’s wrath.

“Well, yes.” Guts admitted, “Eventually. I kinda figured he already knew, and Casca was just being, Casca.”

“You have to understand how she worries.” Griffith said, “People, especially women, worry even when they don’t need to, Not everyone is like you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Guts grumbled. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I just feel like if it were someone else she wouldn’t have tried to tell them the message. It’s like she knew how I was and wanted me to fail so she could yell at me more.”

Griffith smiled at this and laughed softly, much to the confusion of Guts.

“Hey, What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” Griffith said, obviously still amused, “It’s just, you two remind me of children sometimes.”

“Really?” Guts asked, “Us? You’re the dork who named your horse Sir. Snowball.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.” Griffith responded. Yes, so he might’ve been a bit tipsy when declaring the name for his horse, but that doesn’t mean Griffith would be embarrassed by it. It also didn’t mean he would justify Guts jab with a response, “Just, how you and Casca flirt sometimes is like when boys and girls first start to notice each other.”

Guts blanched at that, “Flirt? With her?” He crossed his arms, “That’s insane. Why would I do that? Besides,” Guts lost some of his fire, “Casca hates me.”

Griffith laughed again, “Guts, have you ever been around women your own age?” He asked.

“D’ya mean like camp followers, or…” Guts trailed off, blushing slightly.

Interesting… 

Griffith had never asked, but was Guts a virgin? It wouldn’t surprise Griffith, not exactly. Guts was an impressive warrior, but he wasn’t an impressive people person, that was more Griffith’s territory. At the same time, Guts wasn't a bad looking guy and Griffith knew women found him attractive; it wouldn’t take much to bed one. Maybe he just didn’t have any interest. Griffith could also believe that, as Guts was rather single minded focusing solely on swordplay. You didn’t get that good by chasing women.

“I mean as in any woman you’ve talked to or been around for extended periods of time.” Griffith thought for a moment, “So I suppose you could include camp follower if that applied.”

“Ah, I dunno. Not counting Casca I can’t think of anyone.”

“Not even from childhood?”

It was Guts’ turn to laugh, “I didn’t have a childhood, much less people my own age when I was a kid.”

Griffith ‘hmmed’ at this and looked back to his papers, “Then I guess this behavior makes sense.”

“Whatever,” Guts shifted his eyes, “So why’d you call me here in the first place?” He seemed eager to change the subject.

“Glad you remembered your purpose.” Griffith knew little about Guts’ history, but he had never flat out asked. They were close enough to where Griffith could probably ask and get some sort of answer, but he wouldn’t. It would be all sorts of awkward and while he was curious, he didn’t care enough to ask. Sometimes Guts would share something with him, some story about a battle and it would fill Griffith with a strange feeling. It must be because of the sense of closeness that being confided in brought.

Griffith paused for a moment to ponder the lady commander. Casca was such a character, if only she and Guts could get past their differences and be nicer to each other. Although, Griffith was probably partially to blame for their animosity. He valued Casca, he really did, so he would expect her to understand that just because he gave Guts attention didn’t make him think any less of her. Guts and Casca were probably the two people closest to him, it was just different. 

Women were either almost mind numbingly simple or headache inducing complicated. Just take the Princess Charlotte, bless her heart. A pretty thing with good intentions, but so naive. Her father was partially to blame for sheltering her so, but she seemed too fragile to handle the truth. Take that opposed to Casca who was as complicated as they came. Guts just didn’t have the experience to know that. 

Griffith almost pitied him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some clarification of what Griffith thinks/knows. He sort of knows about Casca’s crush on him but ignores it for the most part because he doesn’t really think of her as a woman most of the time. He thinks Guts and Casca are crushing on each other, but he also thinks it’s just a shallow thing and that they’ll grow out of it once they mature. So this story is mostly just Griffith teasing Guts. 
> 
> I don’t know how much this is canon, but I like the idea that part of the reason Casca was so mean to Guts was because she liked him, soo… yeah. Guts’ feelings are more obvious as by the time he left it was clear he had thought about Casca like that.


	3. Give Her a Knife, Girls Love Knives

“What’re you doing here?” A boy a little older than Guts asked, pointing a finger at him.

after a short bit of him being shocked anyone would talk to him, Guts answered, “I’m with the mercenary band.” 

A girl probably older than the boy asked, “What’re you than? Some whore’s son?”

“I’m a mercenary.” Guts defended. He didn’t know enough to deny whether or not his mom was a prostitute. Shisu wasn’t, not by the time she took care of him at least, and his birth mother was a corpse, but that seemed almost worse.

The whole group laughed. There were six or seven in all, all with the same dark coloring and skinny like peasant children often were. That being said, Guts was still shorter than all of them as he was probably the youngest. It wasn’t unheard of for local kids to approach him, but they hardly ever talked to him. Hardly anybody talked to him.

“A mercenary?” A girl started laughing again. “You look like you just left your mother’s teat!” She then addressed the boy who spoke first. “If they’re taking babies than maybe there’s a chance you can join.”

“I’m seven.” Guts protested. At least he was pretty sure he was seven. He knew he was three when Shisu died, and Gambino kept track of that. The fourth anniversary had happened not too long ago.

His protest was largely ignored as another boy asked, “Whose sword is that?” He stepped closer to touch the sword strapped to Guts’ back. 

Guts took a step back out of reach saying, “Mine.”

“But it’s an adult sword.”

“So?” True Guts wasn’t fighting for real yet, still too small and weak to actually take on an adult, so he was still on support duty bringing spears, arrows, messages, etcetera. Guts was still training every day to get stronger. This sword was the key to his continued living.

One of the older girls declared, “I think you’re lying.”

“Yeah, if it’s really your sword can I hold it?” Asked the boy again, reaching for it.

Guts took another step back, “No.”

“Why not?” One of the girls asked.

“I’ll give it back,” Promised the boy, reaching for a third time.

Guts stepped back again only to lose his footing and fall back on his rear. Everyone was quiet for a moment before bursting into laughter. Again. Tears started to well up in his eyes, but he forced them away. Mercenaries didn’t cry.

“Yup, totally a mercenary.” One jeered, “Total klutz, him.” Said another.

The oldest looking girl sighed and whispered something to probably the youngest in the group before saying louder, “Come on, enough of that. I know for a fact none of you have your chores done.”

A chorus of, “But sis.” Followed, but they all left with the girl. All except the younger girl. Guts sat on the ground eyeing her with suspicion.

“Don’t you have chores?” He asked when it was apparent she wasn’t going to say anything.

“I already did them.” Her voice was small and she said it like she wanted to say more.

Guts was going to wait until she left and then figure out what to do for the rest of the day, but she wasn’t going anywhere. The girl was avoiding his not exactly a glare, but he was definitely trying to get her to leave.

Finally after the semi awkward stare down she conceded and confessed, “I’m supposed to watch you and make sure you don’t steal anything.” 

“I won’t steal anything.” 

“Abigail thinks you’re a thief.”

“I’m not.” Guts insisted.

There was an awkward silence which guts broke with, “So you’re just gonna watch me all day?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’d go back to Gambino, but I’m pretty sure he’d get mad at me.” Guts explained.

The girl nodded again.

Wanting to break this awkwardness, Guts asked, “Is there… anything you want to do?”

After thinking a few moments she said, “Follow me.” and started along a path.

Guts did as directed and walked along side her. After sometime of walking she said, “I don’t think you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah.”

Guts wasn’t used to being around someone his own age, let alone a girl. He was used to being ignored or at least insulted. Some of the men in Gambino’s group were kind enough, but Guts could tell it was mostly out of pity. Hopefully once he could actually fight in battles than he would be treated better, people would actually care about him.

Since people rarely talked with him, mostly at him, Guts was unsure what to talk about. This girl and him were probably as opposite as people got. He knew women apparently liked tales of battle and glory, but Guts didn’t have any of those yet and this girl seemed different than the kind of women that hung around a mercenary band.

“You can see my sword.” Guts said impulsively, taking the whole strap and sheath off to offer it. “I mean, if you want, I wouldn’t mind.”

She stared at the sheathed sword with her dark eyes. A few ticks past before she burst out laughing. It was a surprisingly loud noise that startled him. Guts smiled nervously unsure of what to do. He couldn’t tell if she was laughing at him or not.

Seeing his confusion the girl said, “Do I look like someone who wants a sword?”

Guts shrugged. Everyone he knew had a sword or at least a good knife. Her laughter continued.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.” Guts pouted.

“Oh,” She looked a little sorry, “It’s just… my brother would be so jealous if he found out I got to hold a sword and he didn’t.”

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, he would say ‘I’m older than you, why do you get to play with a sword’.” She mocked her brother’s voice, “He wants to be a soldier someday, but my family needs him to help out on the farm.”

Guts nodded as if he understood, but not having a brother or any family besides Gambino he didn’t. “Were they all your family?” He asked, slinging his sword back over his shoulder.

“Well, yeah.” She answered, “Siblings, cousins, you know. They get a little annoying sometimes, but they’re family.”

Family…

“Race you to the bluffs!” She said suddenly, taking off running.

“But I don’t know-” Guys started to protest before running after her.

Guts caught up with her and was immediately tugged behind a low stone wall that lined the path. A woman strolled by, but Guts couldn’t see her well because of his hiding spot. He shot a questioning look at the girl who was still gripping his wrist. She was slightly out of breath but smiling. 

Finding his voice he asked, “Why are we-”

“-Hiding?” She completed his thought still incredibly smiley. “I thought it would be more fun that way.”

Guts didn’t really how hiding was ‘more fun,’ but this girl was nice and she thought it was a good idea, so he’d go along with it.

“Come on.” She said, tugging his wrist as she stood up.

Guts stood up with her and followed the girl’s careful steps alongside the outside of the wall up to the cliff side. A small switch back went up the cliff and they started up the trail, although it was so narrow that they had to go single file. She let go of his wrist before going first up the path, carefully treading in her bare feet to avoid the rocks and bramble bushes that grew sporadically. Guts followed in his little-bit-too-big boots, kind of wishing he was going first so he could stomp the brambles so she wouldn’t have to worry.

They were almost to the top when the girl lost her footing on some loose rocks. Guts reached out almost automatically to catch her fall and grabbed her hand. For a second it seemed they both might go over, but with some effort he pulled her back up. She was too shocked to scream; all of it happened so fast. They made their way to the top quickly, standing away from the edge.

“You’re stronger than you look.” She said after calming down.

Guts looked out over the cliff. It overlooked the entire town and surrounding countryside, and was tall and steep enough that falling would probably hurt really bad if not kill. 

Turning his focus back on the girl, Guts wasn’t sure how to respond. He wanted to shoot back, ‘well you’re heavier than you look,’ but he didn’t really know how much a girl her size should weigh and judging from the way she blushed slightly he realized she must’ve meant it as a compliment. He finally decided on, “You’re welcome.”

She smiled again and sat down, Guts quickly joining her. He set his sword on the ground beside him to be more comfortable.

“This is where we go to hide from the fighting.” She explained, answering a question he never asked. She pulled her knees to her chest, seeming to shrink.

“Fighting?” Guts asked.

“When the badmen invade, they like to fight in this town. We’re close to the border.” She recited. The girl seemed distant as she recounted more, “I’ve seen it at least twice that I remember, my siblings more. The bad men set things on fire and steal food and supplies, kill people too slow to get away, steal horses or just kill them too. I don’t understand it. Why do they have to destroy my home? We’ve never hurt anybody.” She hung her head in what must have been shame when she said, “And I can’t do anything about it. I’m scared.”

Again Guts didn’t know what to say. He sort of understood it, how these bad men acted. It was the way some of Gambino’s men acted, and while Guts didn’t necessarily like them, Gambino let them stay so they couldn’t be that bad. Right? Still, this obviously bothered the girl and Guts didn't like that more. Then inspiration struck.

He opened and searched through his bag, rifling through his meager belongings to find a relatively small dagger. It was a simple blade with a leather sheath, given to Guts by a man who pitied him after seeing the adult sized sword he was trying to wield. The man said it had belonged to his sister who had died of some whore’s disease, that it was a better fit for someone so small. While sharp and easily concealable, Guts hardly used it because 1) He fought with a sword, or was going to anyways, and 2) Gambino had given him one of his old knives so Guts didn’t need this one.

Guts pulled out the sheathed dagger and offered it hilt first to the girl. It took a few seconds for her to figure out what it was.

Before she could say anything, Guts said, “I don’t need it, and It’s a woman’s knife anyways, so a girl should have it.” She stared at it with her dark eyes. “It should help protect you, better than always running at least.”

When she didn’t respond he grabbed her hand and closed it around the dagger’s hilt. He let go and she slowly pulled it into her chest, almost like an embrace.

“Thank you.” She said finally, “I’ll take care of it.”

The girl suddenly lunged and gave him a quick hug, squeezing him tightly before pulling away. Guts froze at the contact, and stayed frozen for a while. No one had hugged him since Shisu, and even those memorie seemed far away, constantly getting hazier and hazier. Sometimes they felt more like dreams than anything else. 

He stood up abruptly and announced, “I’ll teach you how to use it.”

She nodded, the blush they shared slowly fading.

They trained, or rather played for the rest of the day. When the sun skimmed the horizon they headed back to their respective parties, sharing a ‘See ya’ from the girl and a wave from Guts before parting. In the morning Gambino’s band left, off to fight some battle, and Guts along with them, soon forgetting the kind girl and her dark eyes.

… 

Casca had all of her smaller daggers and knives out in preparation to do her routine cleanings. Even though most of them she didn’t use on a regular basis, the methodical cleaning was relaxing in a way, and after the most recent battle, relaxation was something she need desperately.

This particular day however, was decidedly less calming as the source of at least half her stress decided to ‘help’ her. It was probably by some prompting of Jeaudo or Griffith that he was doing this, his way of apologizing without actually apologising. After the way he disregarded their careful plans and caused her company to have to cover his butt so none of the enemy would break through their lines. Somehow they’d won the battle without too many losses, in half the time expected, but she still had to command two fronts while he tore through the enemy. He still fought like he was alone, like he wasn’t responsible for the lives around him, how, as much as she hated to admit, if he died they would lose so much momentum. 

Despite all of that, she had to admit he did a good job of cleaning. Looking at his own gear you wouldn’t guess that, but for other people it was like he went on autopilot. Must’ve been made to clean blades when he was younger, She figured, if he’d been in mercenary bands his whole life like he claimed, it would make sense. 

Guts was polishing a small dagger when he stopped.

“Where’d you get this one?” He asked trying to sound nonchalant but Casca could tell he was hiding something.

Casca looked closer at the knife in his hand. It was her oldest dagger, simple and small, but razor sharp. Recalling the memory she answered, “It was given to me a long time ago.”

“From a boy?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, Casca said, “How did you-” Then rethinking her response asked, “Why do you care?”

“It’s nothing.” He said, putting the dagger back into its sheath and on the ‘cleaned’ towel. “I just used to have one like that. I always thought it was kind of girly.”

“How can a knife be girly?” She asked, annoyance level rising.

He started working on another knife saying, “I dunno, not saying I was all that smart as a kid.”

“I’d believe that.” Casca muttered.

“Anyway,” Guts continued, sending her a dirty look, “I gave it away a long time ago to a girl.”

“I never pictured you as a charmer.”

He scowled at her denying, “It wasn’t like that.” He was too flustered for it to be anything but ‘that’, “It’s just weird.” He continued, “I had completely forgotten, but this just like bringing it all back. So it was a boy who gave it to you?”

Casca nodded albeit reluctantly, “Before any of this, when I was young.”

“Weird.”

“Wait, you don’t think-”

“Just saying it’s a weird coincidence.”

Casca turned away from him saying, “Whatever.”

Because there was no way that boy could’ve been Guts. That boy had been shy and kind, and most of all thoughtful. Not at all like Guts, who was selfish and as reckless as they come. He wasn’t the kind of man to give a knife to some girl he just met out of sympathy because that required caring about other people and empathy, two things Guts lacked.

As Casca studied him out of the corner of her eye as subtly as she could she decide superficially they may look similar. With the ridiculous sword, dark messy hair, it was almost uncanny, not that she remembered the boy all that well. It was hard to imagine Guts without his scars and bulk, especially the prominent scar on his nose, but she supposed they were all young once. 

Accidentally making eye contact, Guts sighed, “Look, just forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“What’s to say,” Casca said, agreeing with him for once, “It’s just a weird coincidence.”

But in both of their hearts they knew that was far from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the first part takes place when Guts and Casca are like seven. For more of a setting, Gambino’s mercenary band is passing through Casca’s village and is spending the night/resupplying. I wanted it to take place before Guts got his scar, but I wasn’t sure when that was, so just know he doesn’t have the nose scar yet. Both of them act differently as children because this is before most of Guts’ trauma so he still just a sweet kid, and Casca is a powerless peasant’s daughter since she hasn’t met Griffith yet. 
> 
> Also sorry about the dagger/knife thing. I don’t know the difference or if it matters and referring to something as ‘the small dagger’ over and over again is kind of boring.
> 
> The second part takes place in the 3 year time skip (probably like year 1½.)


End file.
